


The Making of AR-27

by scherryzade



Series: Newcomers [1]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Angst, Gen, Post-Canon, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-15
Updated: 2010-02-15
Packaged: 2017-10-07 07:09:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 18,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/62677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scherryzade/pseuds/scherryzade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Returning to the Pegasus Galaxy, the Atlantis Expedition is growing. This means new scientists, new soldiers - and new problems.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Thomas Wright, USMC

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to my LJ account in [August-September 2009](http://scherryzade.livejournal.com/8034.html).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is not his daddy's momma's Marine Corps.

He's a freak. The doctors don't put it like that, but that's what they mean.

The first thing he knows about it is when they're all pulled in for random drug testing. He kind of thinks they're overdoing it. It's not exactly random if everybody's being tested, is it? By the time they're half-way through, everybody knows, and they've more than enough time to get straight.

Either way, he's not worried. He's never taken anything stronger than vodka, and he hasn't even drunk anything for weeks because his stomach is blown.

Then he's called back in.

"You're not in trouble," says the doctor, and Tom tries to stand even straighter.

There's three of them. Reynolds is a bit of a flake, but Sergeant Castle's as straight as they come, so maybe he isn't so badly off.

They wait, and wait, and finally a couple of Air Force officers turn up. They confer with the doctor, who protests a few times before stalking out with a sullen expression. The officers wait until he's gone, then turn to the three Marines.

"Sit down," says one, a Major. He looks, and sounds, like he's never been in a war zone before.

"Sir, permission to speak freely, sir?"

"Go ahead, Sergeant."

"What the hell's this about, sir?"

The Major smiles, all teeth and no warmth. "The three of you have a rare genetic trait that could be of great use to your country."

The other officer, a Captain, holds out papers to each of them. "Non-disclosure form. You'll have to sign this before we continue."

"Experiments?" The sergeant hasn't picked up the pen in front of him. "Sir."

The Major looks shocked. Tom's relieved to see it looks more genuine than his smile. "No. Good God, no."

Sergeant Castle watches him for a moment, then reads the form carefully. Finally, he signs it, pushing the sheet across the table to the Major. Reynolds and Tom follow his lead.

The Major takes something from a pocket and throws it across the table to Castle. As he catches it, the object lights up. The Major nods. "Now Reynolds."

Castle passes it to Reynolds. It flickers, but stays alight. "And Wright." Reynolds sets the thing on the table, and it goes dark.

When Tom picks it up, it glows bright.

~

They've barely been given time to breathe since leaving Afghanistan. He's never had so many needles stuck in him. Never had so much training in such a short space of time, even if a lot of it's lectures on "Working with Civilians" (the SGC vets call this "Don't Piss Off McKay") and "ATA Protocol" ("What not to touch in the Pegasus Galaxy") and what the schedule calls "Unanticipated First Contacts" ("The Sex Ritual and You" - He's pretty sure they're kidding. Pretty sure, but not certain.)

But now they're waiting. They've been ready to transfer to the city since 0600, been kicking their heels since 0630, and the General Hammond has been about one hour from readiness for the past 5 hours.

So now he has time to freak out.

Now he has time to wonder why he said yes. (He said yes, and hadn't even hesitated, and that was before they started the injections). Now he has time to think about travelling to another galaxy. (In a flying city. He'd laughed, and they'd just looked at him). Now he has time to think about the Wraith. (Life-sucking alien vampires that everyone assures him they have on the run, but he's seen the numbers-)

"Hey, you okay?"

He looks up to see Collins smirking at him, and nods. Collins snorts. "Yeah, I know the feeling."

He'd been getting a little tired (who is he kidding - he'd been getting a little terrified) of the blank expression everyone got when they heard that he's had little more than the most basic SERE training and all of three months combat experience. It was quickly followed by sympathy or hearty reassurances that Atlantis would be a cakewalk. The officers tended to walk away looking pensive and taking little notes.

Collins had just laughed at him. "Welcome to the SGC, pal."

Collins is a combat and an SGC veteran, a lifer, although he's not been to Atlantis. "Heard the stories, but," he said, darkly, but then grinned.

Now Collins is surveying the slumping ranks of Atlantis-bound military with a unimpressed expression - twenty Marines, about half of them new to the SGC, the last of the full platoon joining the expedition; five Airmen and three USAF Lieutenants, a dozen Finns whose rank Tom has never determined (and now they're in the same stark black Atlantis uniform as everyone else, and he probably never will) and another six Brits, assigned by the BSEF to the SGC and now to the AEMC (despite the protests of the IOA, and he thought the _Corps_ liked its acronyms).

The uniforms threw him, as well. But even when they all look the same, each group is carefully separate, and by more than the flag patches that denote country - the SGC veterans apart from the newcomers, the officers separate from enlisted, Marine Corps from Air Force. Only Collins has bucked the trend, wandering over to Tom and ignoring the little huddle of Brits.

Collins looks on the verge of saying something damning in earshot of the harassed USAF Major who's supposed to be getting them to Atlantis, when the officer's radio buzzes.

"Finally," mutters the Major. "Alright, stand by, they're ready for you." He's about to say something else when there's a low hum, and the SGC disappears.

Tom's barely on his feet when it happens, and he staggers, Collins catching his elbow. He turns to thank him, but Collins isn't looking at him. Tom follows his gaze, and the words vanish.

They're in the gate room of Atlantis.

It was nearly midday in Colorado - out here in the middle of the Pacific the sun is still rising, and light floods into the gate room from the high windows behind the gate. The new arrivals are packed into the space before the gate, elbow to elbow, and no-one moves, each face turned to the light. In place of the grey concrete of the SGC, here is blue and purple, and shimmering gold, warm and cool together.

He hardly dares breathe, afraid the light will dim, the colours fade. Afraid he will stumble again.

No-one moves.

"No," says one of the Finns, softly. "Se on erilainen."

Tom's snapped out of his daze by a sharp voice that yells down from the control room. "Get them the hell out of here, will you? Bloody SGC has to leave everything to the last - yes, thank you Sam, we've got them, goodbye, we're leaving now -"

The floor starts to shake.

~

Colonel Sheppard both is and isn't what he expects. Not that the crazy stories build up a believable picture. The slouch he's heard about (he's crossed paths with some of the female Marines), but Tom doesn't expect Sheppard to look so startled when he stands to attention as the Colonel passes. Then again he doesn't expect Sheppard to take such care with settling the new contingent into Atlantis. He talks as much (which isn't very) about the veterans helping the newcomers adjust as he does about the new arrivals respecting the galaxy they've just travelled to. And they listen, which is just weird.

He's not surprised that the bulk of the assignments are made by Major Lorne. Lorne's a complete contrast to Sheppard, the kind of man Tom would have expected to see in the Air Force. But he too looks bemused by Tom's stance.

"We're a small base, and the ratio of officers to enlisted men is high. We don't -" He pauses. "It's more important to be ready than to be correct. Keep it for when you really need it."

"Sir, yessir."

"Think of it as - three seconds to salute is three seconds for the Wraith to reach you." Lorne's expression is serious.

"Sir, yessir. No saluting the Wraith, sir."

Major Lorne laughs. "Okay, Wright. Dismissed. Oh, and you're in line for training from tomorrow."

He thinks Ronon Dex is Sheppard's pet wild man, right up until he gets laid out in one move. That isn't just brute force. Tom's never been much for martial arts - he's a boxer, and never went for the flashier forms - but he knows _technique_.

Given what he knows of the Wraith, he's starting to see the benefit of keeping them further away than arm's length.

It turns out that facing Dex in the sparring room is pretty much trial by fire. After that first, brief fight, the training is taken over by a handful of their Athosian allies, at least until he learns more of the Pegasean fighting styles.

He doesn't have a problem with women in the military. His mother was, for one. Teyla Emmagen isn't exactly military, but the other Marines paint her as this warrior princess. He doesn't expect her to be so tiny.

She is gracious, though, and he can see why the guys are devoted. Like Dex, she spends much of her time with Sheppard, and she has a kid, so she could be expected not to notice a grunt like him, but she takes the time to meet the new arrivals, learn names. He likes the way she says 'Thomas Wright'. She doesn't make it sound like 'Thomas, right?'

"It's Tom, ma'am."

She smiles. "Tom. And you must call me Teyla." Tom blushes. He keeps calling her 'ma'am'.

Despite the training, he doesn't get sent offworld. His first three months in Atlantis, he's on corridors. Corridors and lab detail.

Lab detail, he's informed quite seriously, is hell. He doesn't get this the first couple of times. Dr Z's a good guy, never makes them carry more random Ancient technology than is reasonable. He's mostly assigned there alongside Collins, who's found a fellow Brit in the science team and talks at length about obscure British ales.

It's boring, sure, but nobody dies, and mostly the scientists just ignore him.

He doesn't realise that this is because Sheppard's team is offworld.

~

McKay's been cursing over this - thing - Ancient device all morning. Happily, this means he ignores Tom and Collins. Tom takes advantage of this to edge away, but Collins chases danger, watching McKay's increasing frustration with amusement.

McKay breaks off abruptly, snapping into his radio. "Sheppard!"

Tom can hear the Colonel's unhurried reply: "Busy, McKay."

"Nonsense. Get down here. Apparently this godforsaken device needs your _superior_ gene." McKay put the full force of his scorn behind 'superior'.

"You have Wright."

"Of course I have the right, I'm the damn CSO. Get down here."

"I said 'Wright'. The marine. He has a natural gene."

"The beer guy?" says McKay, scowling at Collins.

Collins shakes his head. "I'm Collins, he's Wright," he says. "I don't have the gene."

"Then what do I need- Sheppard, why are you sending me useless Marines?"

Sheppard sounds like he's trying not to laugh. "You get one to turn it on, one to blow it up when it goes horribly wrong."

"Oh."

"Sheppard out," says the Colonel with finality.

"But-" McKay huffs, then turns his scowl on Tom. "Fine. Come on then."

Tom approaches warily. "Uh, what-"

"Oh, great. You may be Wright, but you're not all there, are you? Just pick it up and think 'on' at it."

"Oh-kay." It doesn't turn on when he picks it up. At McKay's enthusiastic gesturing, he thinks 'On'-

   


"Stop! He didn't mean literally blow it up-"

"Sounded like that to me." Tom sniggers at that, and Collins is suddenly at his side. "Hey, pal. You okay?"

Tom's not sure.

"What did you do?" McKay's _loud_.

He just thought- "On. On?" He winces. "Maybe off?"

"Take it easy, Tommy." Collins' hand is heavy on his shoulder.

"Think I need to sit down."

"Y'are sitting down, pal."

"Oh. Lie down?"

"Okay, pal."

"Okay."

Collins moves away. "Where's that fucking med team?"

"'M okay."

"Sure, pal. You're gonnae be fine."

~

They also make him fly. He's a marine, but the SGC doesn't care. He's got the gene, so he has to train as a reserve pilot for the puddlejumpers.

His flying instructor is a USAF pilot, Captain Rodriguez, and she grins as he sits in the pilot chair. "Don't worry, you'll love it."

"Yessir."

She shows him how to hold the controls, half-remembered from his training sessions at the SGC, and suddenly the whole front of the puddlejumper lights up. "Oh yeah, you've a strong expression, I remember."

"Strong expression?"

"A strong expression of the ATA gene. Like Sheppard. The jumpers are his babies. Or possibly he's their's. They're pretty old."

"Oh."

"Yeah, oh. Don't worry, they're solid. Okay, why don't you try thinking 'up'." There's a whirr, and then a thunk. "Down! down!"

They settle with a crunch.

As she pulls herself back into her chair, Rodriguez says: "Oh-kay. Let's try that a bit slower. They're not that solid." She must see something in his expression, however hard he's trying to keep calm, because she says: "Hey, relax, kid. You'll do fine. It just takes a little getting used to, that's all."

~

And it would be fine, he'd take the time to fit in, keep his head down or up as the situation called for, learn to relax when he stepped through the gate, he'd even be happy learning to fly - if it wasn't for the life-sucking alien vampires.

The Wraith. Christ, he can't take the Wraith.

"Bloody hell," mutters Collins beside him, but at least he fires. He fires his careful three second bursts, and the Wraith doesn't even pause.

But Collins keeps firing, and just as Tom thinks the Wraith will reach them, it staggers, falls at Collins' feet. Collins fires a round into its head. "Bloody cocksucking hell."

Tom can hear more approaching.

Collins tugs him away. "C'mon, lad, got tae keep moving."

~

He concentrates on not shaking, and stares at the full clip in his hand. The Marines around him are raucous, post-battle adrenalin making them loud.

"So, that's the Wraith, then?" Collins is sitting across the room from Tom.

"Yeah." Sergeant Johnson, one of the old guard, answers.

"Hm." Collins assumes a mock-thoughtful face. "I'd give them a seven. Maybe. Think I'm being generous, mind. The goth thing isnae working in their favour."

The sergeant laughs. "Wait till you get on a Hive ship, buddy, face up to a Queen. Freaky bitches get into your head."

"Yeah? Nice." Collins catches Tom watching him, and Tom looks away, his hand tightening on the clip. Collins continues. "First time I saw a Goa'uld - campest fucker you ever saw. Eyeliner, gold tiara, the works - I still pissed myself."

Tom looks back up. Collins is smirking, as ever. The sergeant nods. "Yeah, you never forget your first."

There's a murmur of agreement, and the others start to chip in.

"Nothing like firing fifty rounds into something that just grins like you're giving it a massage-"

"Maybe. Goa'uld, though, parasites? There's some hardcore 'It could be you' shit right there."

"Buddy of mine got snaked in '02. That's fucked up, seeing your mate turn round with glowing eyes."

"Replicators."

"Yeah, T-1000 fuckers-"

"Naw, those little skittering bastards, ate everything in their path-"

"Unas. Even Lorne pissed himself at them."

"Major Lorne?"

"Yeah. Anyway, we're surrounded by these things, and Dr Jackson's waving at them, trying to play charades with the fuckers."

"First word, two syllables..."

"...sounds like, 'Eat me'."

"No wonder the guy's died so often."

"Kolya."

"Mother-_fucker_."

"Fucking Genii."

"At least you can understand 'em."

"Yeah, thank fuck for the Ancients."

"Don't let Sheppard hear you say that."

"Never been so scared as in Al- Al- fuck knows what it was called, this fucking raghead screaming at me at a checkpoint. Nearly shot him, only the translator pops up and tells me he's trying to sell me a fucking tv. Never lived that down."

" 'Elmand Province." Another of the Brits, his accent so thick Tom can hardly understand him. "Twenny mile aht a' Gereshk.

"Terries set up IEDs every hundred fuckin' yards. Gets so you can't look at a scrap of rubbish without twitching.

"That was it for me." They all nod.

Johnson speaks again. "First time I saw the SGC, I thought -'Man, I've been on the wrong fucking detail.' Shoulda known better..."

There's a pause, and then Diaz says: "My ex's mother." They all laugh. "As wide as she was tall, and she was not a short woman. I did _not_ know what I was getting into."

The marines start to break into smaller groups, some heading for their quarters, others to the mess. Collins bumps his shoulder in passing. "C'mon, Tommy-boy. You'll miss out on this week's random Pegasus food-stuff."

Tom sets down the clip, and feels his hand steadying. "I'll be right there."


	2. The Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Teyla makes a point of meeting each new arrival, and while she does not always remember every name, she can almost always tell whether they will stay in Atlantis.

They bring more people every year. Many leave, but some stay, and the city's small population grows steadily. Teyla makes a point of meeting each new arrival, and while she does not always remember every name, she can almost always tell whether they will stay in Atlantis, or leave when their 'tour' is done. Scientist, soldier or supporting staff, she can see in their faces whether or not their heart has been won by the city. It is obvious in some (like John), less so in others (Ronon or, she suspects, herself), but she has learnt to see that light in their eyes.

Not always, however. Sometimes she misjudges (she did not expect Major Lorne to stay above a year). And sometimes she cannot tell.

Take the boy in front of her. He is in awe of the city, and maybe even the city's people, but it as much fear as it is wonder.

Teyla is well aware that calling a trained soldier a boy might be taken remiss, particularly if he is, just coincidentally, half one's own age. There are young men among her own people maybe two or three summers younger than this Marine. But he _is_ a boy, if not quite a child.

Partly, it is the contrast. Most of the soldiers (Marines, Airmen, yes, she remembers that easily enough, the better to avoid standing on toes that are so sensitive to their self-imposed clans) have many years experience before they arrive in Atlantis. This boy is little more than an untested recruit, dragged to another galaxy because the SGC is so eager to have anyone with the ATA gene.

"He's _nineteen_," John had hissed, as they watched the new arrivals in the mess hall. "Nobody's that young."

"They're feeding him twice as much, as well," said Rodney, nodding towards the serving staff. "I heard that one of the cooks has taken to baking him cookies."

"Cookies? Those little blue ones?" asked Ronon, sitting up.

"Yeah. You should have them confiscated as contraband."

"It's not really contraband if they make them in the city," said John.

"Illegal allocation of resources, then. I don't know, make something up."

"Seriously, nineteen?" John shook his head in disbelief.

"Cookies, John. Ow." Rodney scowled and rubbed at his arm where John poked him.

"He does seem _young_," Teyla had said, watching the boy as he looked around the mess, seeking a table, or perhaps looking for someone.

"Young, inexperienced, a danger to others. He's got the gene, so he's been learning to fly the jumpers. Apparently he nearly took out half the jumper bay. Rodriguez is not happy with me."

Teyla saw one of the older soldiers hold up a hand to catch the boy's attention, pushing out the chair opposite himself with his foot. The boy beamed with relief, and sat. The other soldier shook his head, smiling, and picked up one of the little blue cookies on the boy's tray.

John shrugged. "Lorne's told one of his guys to keep an eye on the kid. He'll be okay."

But oh, he is so painfully young (and, yes, maybe she is a little jealous of that, but she wouldn't want to be that _unknowing_ again). His name is Thomas Wright, "Tom," he says, and she tells him to call her Teyla, but he still calls her 'ma'am'.

She is teaching him to use the bantos rods, and he has the Marines' eagerness to learn, but he hesitates, time and again. He does not want to strike her, and he's paying for it. Teyla understands why they want to cosset him, but she knows that this galaxy will not. He has to learn to fight anything that attacks him, to never hesitate because someone looks weaker than him.

She leaves an opening for him, and again, he hesitates. With a regret she does not voice, Teyla cracks her rods against the back his calves, and he tumbles to the ground.

They are interrupted by the soldier she had seen sharing a table with Tom the day before. He smirks at the sight of Tom on his back, before turning towards Teyla and standing to attention.

"Sorry, ma'am, but we're on duty in half an hour. Thought I'd pick him up, case he got lost on the way to the labs."

This one she can read. He won't be staying.

Beyond that, Teyla sees in his eyes something that she is not used to seeing in the Tau'ri. It reminds her of nothing so much as Ronon when he first arrived. This man has lost - is lost. Perhaps he thought he would find a place in Atlantis, but the city has not touched him.

"C'mon, pal, can't lie about all day."

And yet, when he turns to the boy, his gaze is clear. He mocks Tom, but there is no malice in it, and he holds out a firm hand to pull the boy to his feet.

And that, more than anything, might be the thing that makes the boy stay. In his youth, he does not see it, but the people of Atlantis are reaching out to him. Now, it may be sympathy for his inexperience, or because they are charmed by his innocence, but in time it will be the loyalty that binds the city together. He may be wary of it now, but she sees, in the ready way he clasps his comrade's arm and the solemn, awkward way he returns Teyla's bow, Tom's willingness to accept the city.

The city holds out a hand to him, and, slowly, he is reaching out to her.


	3. Nathaniel Gibson, PhD

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He isn't a genius. He has an academic record to be proud of because he earned it. But sometimes he wonders how it got him here.

##### Cambridge, Trinity College, Natural Sciences Tripos, MSci (Hons), 1992-6

He struggles for the first two years, heading to what any other university would call a decent second. He should have gone to any other university. He can barely hack the maths. He should have done engineering.

Some time at the start of his third year, something clicks, and while he doesn't see daylight for another eighteen months, he finds himself graduating with Honours and a shot at a full ride for a PhD at an American university, and he leaps.

##### University of Michigan, Space Physics Research Laboratory, PhD, "Correlation between Coronal Mass Ejections and Deep Space Radar Telemetry Interference", 1996-2000

A blur of computer screens and coding and dull, dull statistics, and if he never sees a screenful of deep space radar telemetry readings again it will be too soon. It's two parts engineering to three parts computing, with a sprinkling of physics on top to keep him sweet, and there are four other PhD students working on the same project, all of whom Dr Drummond favours over Nate.

It's the first time someone calls him 'Gibbs' (actually, it's "Gibbs-" snapsnapsnap "-move") - another student, but he doesn't dare correct him, because the guy's working on his second PhD, on day release from some high-level, top-secret government job. There's always a black-suited agent stationed outside the labs, scowling at everyone who passes. Nate couldn't swear to it, but he thinks it's a different agent each week. But at least everyone else is terrified of the guy, and he's long gone (in a fog of death threats and recriminations) by the time Nate staggers into the interminable final stretch of his thesis.

##### University of Michigan, Space Physics Research Laboratory, Post-Doctoral Research Assistant, 2001

It takes Nate six months to realise he's getting screwed over, his work subsumed into Drummond's. By the end of August, he's ready to pack it all in and head home, but by the time he can book a flight, Beritt Industries are headhunting him for a post that pays double. Nate looks at his student debts and decides that being a corporate drone is the way forward.

##### Beritt Industries, Resarch &amp; Development Associate, 2002-7

He's not a genius, but he's a bloody good worker. He is-

"A good little worker bee." And the smile on her face just turning into a smirk, like she knew he could hear her.

He smiles, and tells them he wants to get back into theoretical research, and they smile back and pretend they believe him. The severance package is generous. He steals his laptop (it's a stupid little touchscreen tablet PC, but he's always been a sucker for them).

##### Interview, USAF Deep Space Radar Telemetry Project, Washington D.C., March 2007

Who the hell says they think something looks alien in a job interview with the government? Perhaps, he thinks to himself, as they stare back at him, he really doesn't want to get involved in whatever they're doing here. Reverse engineering this - whatever it is (and seriously, don't they know the Cold War's over? It would be simpler just to buy the original research).

He only applied out of a twisted nostalgia - it's an open secret that the Deep Space Radar Telemetry project is anything but. The more optimistic call it the USAF's JPL, saying it's the place to be for cutting edge research. The cynical - and Nate's increasingly in this group - say it's glorified arms manufacturing.

Just when he thinks they're going to chuck him out, Dr Lee leans forward and prompts, "But how do you think it works?" and something clicks.

##### USAF Deep Space Radar Telemetry Project, Groom Lake Facility, Civilian Contractor, 2007-2008

For the first six months, the buzz from the simple existence of the Stargate program is enough to keep him happy. Even when he starts to be drawn into the backbiting and infighting, the muttered disparagement of their colleagues in Colorado, the endless desert-dry paranoia, he still wakes up grinning at _alien bloody technology_.

He knows that he does good work, important work. That he's part of the team.

"You're a team player, Gibbs."

"It's Gibson, sir," he doesn't say, because the man's a General. And what the General means is "You're going to forget this ever happened." So he nods and agrees with everything the General says, and doesn't watch as they take away the bodies.

Apparently the paranoia was justified. He doesn't know where it slipped up, just that the only reason the place isn't a burning shell is that he decided to stay late, and could type fast enough to keep the black-clad, ski-masked intruders out of the labs long enough for the base's security teams to find them. Long enough for them to-

The next day, he applies to transfer out of Nevada.

##### Joint SGC/IOA Interviews, Cheyenne Mountain, Colorado, January 2009

The panel (a mixture of civilian scientists, USAF personnel and IOA officials) looks as though they've been arguing. He can tell none of them want to be there, whether to interview him (Dr McKay snorts with contempt at every other answer he gives) or anyone else (he's pretty sure the USAF Colonel is asleep, and if he isn't, he looks like he should be).

Two days after the interview, when he's staring at the walls of his hotel room, wondering if he's burnt too many bridges to go back to Nevada and help rebuild Area 51, and what they'll let him do if he tries to leave the program, there's a sharp knock at his door.

He opens it on a spruce Marine, who snaps to attention and says: "Sergeant Johnson, sir. Here to take you to orientation."

"Wh-" Bugger, he thinks. They're already getting rid of him. Or wouldn't they call it debriefing?

"Orientation, sir. Cultural awareness training, weapons training, ATA protocol..."

Nate stares at him.

"It's standard for all civilian personnel joining the mission, sir."

"Um."

"They left you a message, sir," says Johnson, and Nate starts, before scrambling for his phone. The 'no signal' message blinks at him unrepentantly.

The sergeant grins suddenly. "Welcome to the Atlantis mission, doc."

Nate finds himself grinning back.

##### International Atlantis Expedition, Phase 3 "Bellerophon", Science &amp; Research Relief Staff, February 2009-date

"Wait, did you say _weapons_ training?"


	4. The Cambridge Grad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rodney needs scientists who can understand things with their hands as well as their heads.

Radek plays good cop to his bad, because they worked out pretty early on that there's no point in easing the new scientists into it. Sooner or later they're going to do something monumentally stupid, and if he freaks them out too much at that point, they don't listen, and the stupid can increase exponentially. If they know he yells at everyone, they get acclimatised. If they think it's just them, they start trying to hide their mistakes, and that is much, much worse.

This time, there's a whole bunch of Japanese particle physicists, and he just hands them straight to Miko. It took Rodney a year to realise that she would agree with anything he said simply because he was her boss, and another six months for Radek to make her understand that Rodney hated that more than any disagreement. Now, he leaves that cultural awareness training to Miko herself. She scowls at him and proceeds to terrify the new recruits into submission.

"Ooh, look, more botanists," says Radek with unconvincing innocence. "And three marine biologists with specialisms in micro-something-or-others"

"And archaeologists," he hisses back. But at least they're archaeologists who actually want to dig things up, unlike some employees of the SGC. One of them is Japanese, and he passes her to Miko as well, only to find them conspiring, and giggling wildly when he leaves the room.

But they've six more of what he thinks of as scientist-engineers, the ones he desperately needs because however exciting alien protozoa are, what hurts them most is their continuing struggle to understand Ancient technology.

So he needs scientists who can understand things with their hands as well as their heads, engineers who don't glaze over if you start talking about more than 5 dimensions.

Not that they're perfect, or anything.

"Oh, bugger," he hears a soft voice say in the lab next door. He ignores it, because if nobody's actually screaming, they can sweat a little before he comes and fixes whatever it is they've broken.

There's an even softer curse, and then the tinkle of breaking glass.

He reaches the lab in time to see Gibson hurling something towards the newly broken window.

He opens his mouth, but before he can say anything, he's cut off by the sudden bloom of warmth as whatever it was explodes outside, shattering what's left of the window.

He opens his mouth again. Shuts it. Tries a third time.

"What the _hell_?"

Gibson ducks his head apologetically. "It was unstable. There wasn't time to contain it, so I, um-"

"Threw it out the window? Which you are so paying for, by the way."

The Marines are trying not to laugh. Well, one of them is, the one he's taken to thinking of as 'Farm Boy', trying to hide his amusement behind a look of square-jawed incomprehension. The other, the one he can only think of as 'Beer Guy' because he and Gibson - and Zelenka, damn him - talk of nothing else, is smirking. He's standing by the window, which means he's the one who broke it.

Gibson still doesn't look at Rodney, apparently fascinated by the floor, but the corner of his mouth is twitching.

~

This, _this_ is why he doesn't like anyone but John activating Ancient technology, Rodney thinks, staring at Wright as he falls. Sheppard knows how to turn things off before they turn his brain to mush.

Collins kicks the device away from Wright, and Rodney barely has the presence of mind to stop him shooting it. Collins rounds on him, and he skips back a little.

He's more than a little relieved that Wright chooses that moment to come round, and Collins focuses his attention on the kid.

"Where's the med team?" snaps Collins.

Med team, right. He should really have called for- "They're on their way," says Gibson. He hunkers down beside Wright, opposite Collins. "He'll be fine, Mark."

~

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"Can I have them?"

He scowls at Sheppard, who remains unperturbed. He's been bugging Rodney for a week, over-eager to have his shiny new gate teams handed shiny new scientists to break in.

He considers holding out another day, but without the gate teams active, Sheppard has far too much time on his hands. He slides his list across to John, who grins, and then heaves an exaggerated sigh. "_Finally_."

"Shut up," he says, as John unfolds the list and starts to read. "I'm putting most of the social scientists in pairs, new with old. The others - there's no point in sending out Miko's kids, they're doing better work here. That leaves about twenty, so you'll be rotating them -"

"I will."

"Yes, Colonel, you will. They all want to go offworld, because they listened to your little speech and not mine. You're the one who said they were fit to."

"C'mon, Rodney. You have a geologist who can crush rock with his bare hands. They're better than you ever were."

Rodney ignores this. "You also cleared the archaeologists-"

"They thrive in the field."

"They thrive in ditches, like weeds. You passed Gibson, who's the textbook definition of hapless-"

"He came out of training okay. And he's good at blowing stuff up."

"You heard that?"

"What?" John looks up from the list, frowning.

"Well, what were you talking about?"

"That was his thing, in training. Blowing stuff up and running away before the enemy reached him."

"Huh."

"What were you talking about?"

"Hm? Oh, it doesn't matter."

"Oh-kay. In that case, I'm gonna go -"

"If I want them in the labs, you're going to take them off the teams, right?"

"- talk to Lorne about how we assign them."

"They're still my scientists."

"Sure, Rodney."


	5. Mark Collins, Royal Marines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They offer him the Atlantis mission three times.

They offer him the Atlantis expedition three times. The first time, it's their shiny new International mission, and they want him to off-set the overwhelming number of US Marines. He's not stupid - off to another galaxy, any return dependent on sheer dumb luck?

No chance.

Second time round, it's after they've reconnected with the expedition, and lost the better part of a company protecting her from the Wraith. A month later, when they stop threatening to court-martial Sheppard and promote him instead, Major Lorne asks Mark to go to Atlantis.

He refuses. He likes the Major, had a few missions with Lorne when he was still a Captain, and the man's harder to fool than most of the Americans. He doesn't want to see Lorne end up like Colonel Everett.

He sure as fuck doesn't want to end up like that himself.

~

They get chucked out of Atlantis anyway.

He goes on missions with some of the reassigned Atlantis people. Not Sheppard, although he hears the fallout.

He sees how twitchy they all are, like they're in withdrawal. He gets their loyalty to Sheppard, but he's not convinced about the man himself. If he's honest, he kind of thinks Sheppard's a whiny bastard, like somebody took away his favourite toy and now he doesn't want to play at all.

It takes Sheppard slamming the butt of a P90 in his face to make him reassess.

But when Sheppard's team clears the Replicators out of Atlantis, and the mission gets back on course, they're not looking for new volunteers. He doesn't waste his or the Major's time asking.

~

He doesn't recognise the voice on the other side of the gate. He's expecting Walter, but he knows that he's lost track of time. He patches through his IDC, and doesn't hesitate when the confirmation comes back through.

Perhaps, he thinks, after he's stepped out the other side, he should have thought twice. This is not Colorado.

They stare at him. He's glad he's not the only one who doesn't know what the fuck is going on. He registers the P90s trained on him, and raises his hands.

"Collins?"

He spins, focussing on- "Cap- Major Lorne! Sir!" Lorne's staring at him, but he waves back the twitchy guard detail, for which Mark's grateful. "Why'm I in the Pegasus Galaxy, sir?"

"You're not. We brought the city to Earth. Chuck -" Mark stares at Lorne. "I thought you said there were no teams offworld except at the Alpha site."

"Nossir. No scheduled returns." 'Chuck' is the voice he didn't recognise. "But they lost contact with SG-25 -" Mark twitches a hand to identify himself, and Major Lorne's expression shifts. "- almost a month ago. Before the Wraith threat, sir."

The Wraith. Mark shudders. Atlantis on Earth, which means - Jesus.

"Christ," says Lorne, and Mark grins at him.

That would explain why no-one came looking for them.

"Your team, Mark," says Lorne. "Where's the rest of your team?"

He thought the Major was smarter than that. Everybody's dead, Dave, he thinks, but just gestures, a knife slash across his throat. Lorne flinches. He thought the Major was tougher than that.

He's heard that Atlantis does funny things to people. He takes a moment to look around the gate room. They're all still staring at him.

A laugh bubbles up in his throat. The natives are wary of strangers, he thinks, a clipped officer-voice in his head.

He hears Major Lorne call for a med team, and pulls away from the hand Lorne holds out to steady him. That backfires, because he looses his footing on the smooth Atlantis floor, and finds himself kneeling. He stares up at the windows at the far side of the gate room.

It's so _bright_.

He doesn't mind if the natives are wary. He could stay here forever.

~

The next time Lorne offers him a place on the Atlantis expedition, he doesn't hesitate.


	6. The Sensei of Govanhill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ronon always has an eye open for new fighting techniques.

The sparring rooms are tense, and Ronon wonders if it's worth the trouble to seek out the source. But Sheppard will sulk if he finds out Ronon ignored a problem with the Marines, so he wanders through the rooms, greeting the soldiers he knows and watching the others with care.

The source of the tension soon becomes obvious, two of the soldiers circling each other. One's a US Marine, Morrison, the other, one of the Brits. A Scot, he remembers. Like Beckett. Name of Collins.

He wonders if he should break it up, let one of them take out their aggression on himself. But Johnson tells them to "take it to the floor, or let it go," and they take it out to the sparring floor. A handful of Marines go to watch, and Ronon follows, a little concerned. If the Scot is anything like Beckett, it's going to be a short fight.

Morrison is loud, aggressive. He's got a good few inches on Collins, and musclebound where the other soldier is wiry.

It's a short fight.

Morrison barely has time to settle into a fighting stance before Collins steps inside his defenses and snaps his forehead into the Marine's face. As Morrison clutches at his suddenly streaming nose, the Scot twists his arm up and round, forcing the Marine onto his knees. Collins holds Morrison's arm up just high enough, for just long enough, to make him whimper, then lets go, a well-placed boot sending the Marine sprawling forward.

The other Marines stare at him.

"Any of yous want to join him?" asks Collins. He's holding back, Ronon can tell. Morrison's sitting upright now, scowling at the Scot as he holds his bloody nose, not realising how lucky he is that Collins stopped.

The Marines mutter their anger, and Ronon steps forward. "What style is that?" he asks, and Collins laughs.

"Nothing you'd know."

"It's not what your military teach, is it?" The other Brits don't fight much differently from the US Marines, with a solid, powerful style that's laughably easy to get round.

Collins grins at him. "Naw, this is what I learnt in the dojos of Govanhill an' Easterhouse." The grin is dark, and doesn't reach Collins' eyes.

"Show me." Ronon hears Johnson take advantage of the distraction and pull the Marines out of the sparring room, Morrison still complaining.

"Aye, well, it's more usual to be armed."

"Yeah?" Ronon's more interested now. The Tau'ri are usually so careful in separating their fighting styles.

"Yeah. I'd a' split his face-" Collins catches himself, and the grin weakens. "Knives, any kind of blade, really. Not much in the way of firearms."

"Fast."

"Aye, well." Collins rubs at his forehead, now starting to bruise.

"It's not a discipline, is it?" The opposite, in fact, but effective, which the careful Tau'ri martial artists probably wouldn't appreciate. "Just a -" Ronon searches for the word. "Reactive style." Learnt in battle.

"Anything goes, or you do."

"Show me."

But Collins is already heading to the door. "I prefer a P90."


	7. Captain Anna-Maria Rodriguez, USAF

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She just wants to fly.

"Whoo-eee. You're listening to AM/FM Radio Ro-Ro-Rodriguez, live and in the skies over sunny - where are we, Cougar-bait?"

"Don't call me that."

"Don't know what you're talking about."

"Get off the radio, Radio. Why do they call you that, anyway, 'Radio'? It's a dumbass call-sign."

"Right back at you, Cougar-bait."

"Don't call me that."

"Cut the chatter, boys and girls. We'll be over the target in-"

"Whoa, what the fuck-"

"Enemy fire at-"

"Radio, Cougar, break-"

"Strafe the fuckers-"

"Boots, you've got one-"

"Jesus, I'm hit-"

"Eject! Boots, eject!"

"-whole wing's just _gone_-"

"Boots! eject!"

"Motherf-"

"Did we get them?"

"I think so."

"Jesus, what the fuck was that?"

"That was the target."

"Seriously? Fuck."

"Boots' down. Cougar, Radio-"

"Right behind you sir."

"Radio?"

"What the-"

"Come in, Radio."

"Shit, I can't see her."

"Rodriguez-"

"Anna?"

~

The F-16 isn't designed for crashing. That's why they have ejector seats. Next time, she's going to remember that.

Not that ejecting when you're that close to the ground would have done any good.

Wasn't a good idea to think about that too much, because she still might turn out to be dead.

She tumbles from the cockpit.

She pulls herself upright and walks up the slope beside her plane to get her bearings. Warmth blooms behind her, and it's a moment before she drops to the ground to escape the blast.

Warmth pricks behind her eyes, and she shakes her head to send it away.

She stands up again. The sun's higher. Home is - base is - that way? Too far. The column of smoke from Boots' plane is almost completely in the opposite direction. Somewhere between here and there, he'd ejected. They'll be looking for him, not her, because she's pretty sure now that she couldn't have survived that crash.

She shakes her head again, trying to clear it. No, she's not dead. But two downed pilots in enemy territory are easier to find together than separately.

She can't tell how far he'd drifted. But the wind's driving hard into her face, so chances are, he'll be right on her path to the other crash site.

She can't remember seeing him eject.

~

They sent her home, after that, with commendations and the promise of medals and a job sitting on her ass somewhere in the Mid West.

It takes a moment for Anna to notice that she's been joined in the waiting room. Another moment to scramble to her feet and salute the General. He raises an eyebrow at her. "Siddown, Lieutenant. Rodriguez, isn't it?"

She nods, and sits, ankles together, wrists crossed, like her grandmother and Sergeant Matthews both taught her.

The General looks around him expectantly, and the sergeant accompanying him leaps forward with a file. "Afghanistan, right? All kindsa-" Her file. " 'crazy shit' it says here. Not-" He waves the file in an elaborate movement. "Explicitly."

"Sir."

"So, they stopped you flying." She freezes, and he nods. "Yeah, I can see why Sheppard thought you'd be a good fit."

Sheppard - "_John_ Sheppard?"

The General settles further into his chair, watching her from behind his sunglasses.

John Sheppard - salutory lesson Sheppard, fuck-up Sheppard - she'd only know him three months before he'd screwed the pooch so spectacularly that they sent him to Antartica. She'd liked Shep, if only because he'd loved flying almost as much as she did, but if John Sheppard thought she was a good fit for something, her career's probably a lot more screwed than she'd thought.

She tries to remember what she'd last heard about Sheppard - still in Antartica, or bus runs over Utah, or dishonorably discharged. Rehab, someone had told her. Someone else had claimed to have seen him in DC in full dress blues, more medals than the General here. Boots had said that meant Special Ops, black ops - suicide missions.

"Far be it for me to take advice from a man with hair like that-" Anna tries not to laugh. Shep's hair had been the subject of much speculation. "But your record speaks for itself. You don't, apparently, but your record does."

"Sir?"

"Still want to fly?"

"Sir, yessir." She can't say it fast enough.

" 'kay." The General leaps to his feet.

"Sir," says the sergeant in a chiding tone.

"Hm? Oh, yeah, stuff to sign. Well, go ahead."

The sergeant hands her a document to sign, and another - a whole series, duplicates, triplicates. "Standard non-disclosure, ma'am." It doesn't look standard to her.

As she signs the last sheet, she says "Sir, permission to speak freely?"

"Shoot." He frowns. "Is that a bad way of putting that?"

"Sir, forgive me if I've missed something, but what-"

"Right! First off- Welcome to Homeworld Security." He shakes her hand, his grip firm, and then hooks his sunglasses off. His eyes are sharper than she expected. "Tell me, how d'ya feel about spaceships?"

~

She _likes_ spaceships.

The F-302s are gorgeous. Okay, they're stupid-looking things, like stunned pigeons dropped from a great height, but they're a beautiful ride. Not an easy one - about half the pilots in the initial training program wash out, but not even the high-altitude 'Inertial Dampeners Failure' simulation can stop her flying.

The 2nd Strategic Earth Defense Wing doesn't see much action. They're scrambled to deal with one hijacked Al'kesh, but most action they see involves using meteoroids for target practice, even though none of them are large enough to be a threat. She concentrates on perfecting her flying, and pushes to get onto Mitchell's advanced training program.

She kind of hates herself for crushing on him, because he's exactly the kind of All-American pretty boy with a smart mouth that makes her hate the Air Force. But behind that, and the godawful southern charm that has him holding doors open for her, there's a damn fine pilot, one that recognises her as a damn fine pilot. All it takes is a slap on the back and a "Good flying today, Radio," and she's sold.

She resigns herself to it. One thing she's learned since she joined the SGC - everybody has a crush on at least one current or former member of SG-1. She's been dining out on "Jack O'Neill recruited me personally" for months.

~

Promotion comes with a re-assignment, and her squadron joins the Apollo.

It's pretty much the definition of long periods of boredom followed by brief moments of terror. It takes three weeks to get to Atlantis, and Anna and her fellow pilots have even less to do during hyperspace travel than the Apollo's crew.

But when they get there, she's one of the pilots who helps position the asteroid in the path of the Asuran weapon that's burning through Atlantis' shields. They're led by Major Lorne, and she's glad of his cool assurance, because it's pretty much the freakiest thing she's done, spacecraft or no.

When they get back on the Apollo, the ship's heaving with Atlantis personnel. Over the next twelve hours, she's heard more improbable stories about what 'Sheppard and McKay' can achieve than she ever heard about SG-1.

And then they arrive at M12-578, and the city isn't there.

She's more impressed by Major Lorne's calm in the next 24 hours, because he sets the tone for the rest of the Atlantis people. She couldn't swear to it, but she thinks he must have spoken to every member of the expedition on the Apollo.

~

"Sir?"

He takes a moment to focus on her. "Hey, Captain - Rodriguez, right? What can I do for you?"

"Colonel Carter sent me to ask when you last slept."

He quirks a half-smile at her. "Well, I was on Atlantis at the time. Last week, I think."

"That's what the Colonel speculated. She suggested you might like to take a break."

"Has she found her yet?" He's not so tired he can't be a little sarcastic. Only a little, because it stutters on 'her'.

Her. Atlantis. "I'm sure you'll be the first to know."

"And if she doesn't? I-" He scrubs his face with his hands. "I have to be there."

"Yessir. I'll make sure you're given time."

He holds her gaze for a moment, then lets himself droop. "Yeah."

She shows him to the nearest empty cabin, and closes the door on him as he mutters something that might be "Carter Ladies School of 'Don't Bullshit Me', right there," as he falls on the bunk.

She doesn't have anything better to do, so she drags a chair to where she can see his cabin, and sets up an unofficial guard on Major Lorne's door.

In the end, there's only one potential interruption. Anna's almost nodding off herself when one of the scientists wanders past looking lost and worn as ragged as the Major. She waves him over.

"Looking for Major Lorne?"

"Yes, is he-"

"He's asleep," Anna says with finality, and the man's face eases with relief.

"Finally." He sighs. "Sheppard's bad example. Has to do everything himself."

"You look like you could do with some sleep yourself."

He shakes his head. "Tried that. Didn't work. Trying caffeine now."

She can't help but smile at that, and he smiles back. She holds out her hand. "Rodriguez."

"Parrish. David Parrish. It's-" He waves a hand at her insignia. "Captain, right?" She nods. "Ev- Major Lorne has to keep reminding me. Mental block. I can tell _Usnea substerilis_ from _Usnea lapponica_, but can't differentiate officer from airman. Not in the wild, anyway."

"You're on the Major's gate team?" It's beyond her that they're still running the Atlantis mission as a scientific expedition, the IOA notwithstanding.

"Sometimes. Don't get offworld as much as I'd like. People keep attacking us," he adds, deadpan, but he beams when she laughs.

Anna's radio buzzes at her. "Rodriguez here."

"_Captain, this is Colonel Carter. Can you ask Major Lorne to report to the bridge?_"

~

With Atlantis so low on power, they cannot risk transferring anyone back, so the Apollo is dangerously crowded when they drop into orbit around the Replicator homeworld. It also means that the news of Dr Weir's loss travels through the Apollo fast.

It's the first time she's seen Sheppard since Afghanistan.

Her first instinct is to think that he hasn't changed, but that isn't right. The hair hasn't changed, but there's _something_, and it isn't just the shock of loosing Dr Weir. She saw him after Holland's death, and she recognises _those_ lines.

They're in the mess. The atmosphere is subdued, the Apollo's crew well aware of the loss suffered by the city's people.

Sheppard picks at the food in front of him, pushing it round the tray and barely eating. Dr McKay is stuffing his face, but doesn't give any appearance of enjoyment. Ronon Dex is nowhere to be seen. Major Lorne, a few seats away, is eating with the regular motions of an automaton.

Sheppard rouses himself, dropping his fork with a clatter that makes the whole room look up. "We need more pilots."

"Sir?"

"We had to clear an asteroid field with the jumpers. We need more pilots"

"We did okay," protests McKay. "Besides, we don't intend to go through all that again, do we?"

"We were lucky, says Sheppard. "On both counts." Just not the third, thinks Anna.

"They haven't found any more natural gene carriers, or they would have sent them," says Lorne.

McKay snorts at that. "Right, because the SGC always makes our best interests its top priority."

"It's the jumpers, the artificial gene's enough. I want _pilots_," says Sheppard.

"Yessir." Anna knows what Lorne's thinking. He's a pilot.

"Christ, Lorne, I didn't mean-" Sheppard breaks off. "If you hadn't gotten that rock in place, it would all have been moot anyway."

"There was time to make it back to the city."

"No, no. I'm not going to second guess - I just mean - we have thirty-odd jumpers and we barely use half of them. We need more pilots."

~

She regrets any insult she threw at the F-302s when she first sees the puddlejumpers. But if the 302s are a sweet ride, the jumpers are an experience. Instead of the push and pull on her hands, there's a push and pull on her mind. She knows it's just a machine like the 302s, but she can't help feeling that the jumper wants to fly as much as she does.

"Wow," she gasps, as the jumper settles.

The quiet, careful Marine sergeant who's been putting her through her paces suddenly bursts out laughing. "Yeah, it takes some people like that."

She goes up with both Sheppard and Lorne - they want to get a feel for her strengths as a pilot. She's careful with Lorne, who clears her for duty without hesitation. She does the same with Sheppard, until she notices him looking at her sideways. She loosens up after that, and flips the jumper into a spin that almost catches him unawares. By the end of the half hour flight to the mainland, they're both grinning like loons, and Sheppard finds her several poisonous snakes to take out with the drones before they head back.

She freakin' _loves_ spaceships.

~

She's not assigned to a team. Instead, she's there to to provide air support when it's needed. More waiting, more boredom, more brief, brief excitement.

The excitement falls roughly into three categories: hovering threateningly while the Marines rescue Sheppard's team (that's unfair - it's not always AR-1); dogfights with Wraith darts (which shouldn't be as much fun as it is); and airlifting refugees (she stops bitching about this after the second time they have to re-evacuate people from one of the 'safe' planets).

She doesn't even leave the jumper until M2V-386, when Major Hughes' radio cuts out. All she hears is "I see ten Wrai-"

Once again she finds herself wondering why the SGC still allows Atlantis to be run as a research expedition. Sure, it makes sense to have McKay and the other Ancient tech guys around, but the anthropologists, the biologists, the botanists? When does that become a good idea?

Lorne doesn't get into half this much trouble when he's leading a purely military team.

Drake gives her a pissy look when Anna orders her to stay with the jumper, which Anna ignores, because it looks a lot like the one she threw Hughes when he decided to leave the jumper out here. She grabs a handful of extra clips for her P90, and heads out to find two Majors, a botanist and eight Recon Marines, and tries not to curse so loudly that the Wraith will find her first.

~

She's finding out that David is as excited by plants that are the same in Pegasus and on Earth as he is by plants that are completely new. Possibly more so. "You have to understand the implications, Captain. It tells us so much about the Ancients, about how they thought. Maybe not _why_ they did all this -"

"They really liked conifers?" Someone - it's probably Shaughnessy - snorts at that, and then groans. Broken ribs are a bitch to laugh through.

David grins. "I mean, they must have been real control freaks, right? Left to their own devices, each of these planets must have had the potential to evolve millions of species. Anything you can imagine, more than you can imagine. It would have been - astonishing." He throws out his arms to emphasise the point, and nearly overturns Anna's IV. "Can you imagine if every planet you gated to was completely unique? And yet the Ancients turned every single one into a little parody of Earth. And not just Earth, a very specific temperate zone."

"Yeah, that's pretty weird. I'd have gone for something a little balmier."

"No, no, that's the thing, they're not pretty, but they're consistent. The temperate conditions mean that the human population is far more secure. Anything more equatorial or polar, and the weather systems are more extreme. Much harder for humans to survive."

"They could just have given the humans the technology to survive."

"Like I said, control freaks. Of course, the really interesting thing is when the system breaks down. The moment you move away from the temperate zones, the planet starts to reassert itself. That's when you start to see really interesting variations. Evolution cannot be denied - even the Ancients didn't have the technology to stop it."

She's about to reply when she realises Major Lorne is standing at the foot of her bed, watching the two of them with a skeptical expression.

"Sir."

"Captain." Lorne's tone is dry, but she's pretty sure that's normal, and he isn't about to bawl her out for leaving the jumper, or nearly bringing the Wraith down on his secure, if radio-transmission dampening, position. He just nods to her, and turns to David. "So, you're doing well, Doc, if you can explain the Ancients to poor Rodriguez, here."

David taps the cast on his leg. "I'm okay. I suggested they try the extract from the _Papaver somniferum_ variant we found on M4K-026, but Jennifer wants to run more tests on it."

"_Papaver_\- Oh. Yeah. No, I'm pretty sure you don't need anything more than what she's giving you, David."

"Might keep him quiet," mutters Diaz, and Lorne shoots him a chiding look that rolls past Diaz like bullets through a Wraith. "Permission to get the hell out of here, sir?"

"Not 'til Keller clears you."

"Sir." Diaz isn't whining. "I only got stunned."

"Three times, Diaz." Diaz looks ready to complain again, but Lorne stops him. "I don't want to see you out of here until Keller tells me you're cleared. Doc -"

"Hey, I'm not going anywhere."

"Yeah, I know." Lorne's biting down on a smile, but he looks concerned underneath that. He turns back to Anna, pulling her IV out of arm's reach from David's bed. "Captain."

"Sir, I-"

"Major Hughes sends his apologies." There's another snort from Shaughnessy, another groan, both of which Lorne ignores.

"He- I-" Really? thinks Anna.

"He's a little busy right now, but he wanted me to tell you he thinks you made a good decision out there."

"Uh, thank you?"

Lorne smiles, finally, and walks out of the infirmary without a second glance.

Diaz chuckles as he slips down from his bed. "Sheppard is kicking Hughes' _ass_ right now."

~

None of the Atlantis pilots are happy about how it goes down when the Wraith find Earth. They all know pilots who died in the skies over Area 51.

"We know how to fight the Wraith," mutters Yates. "We could have gone through with Sheppard."

It's been a month, and they've gone over it a hundred times. Every time, it works out best if they were there, if the pilots flying 302s against the Wraith knew what they were facing.

It's been a month, and they still don't know if they're going back to Pegasus.

Sheppard looks tired when he enters the briefing room. "Okay, I'm gonna keep this short."

Anna's skin itches.

"As you know, we lost a lot of good pilots against the Wraith." They murmur agreement. "The SGC has decided to recall half of you to help with training new 302 pilots, as well as Earth Defense. I'm hoping -" Sheppard has to raise his voice against their reaction. "I'm hoping that some of you will want to volunteer -"

They're going back to Pegasus. The city's going back.

"- obviously priority will go those in recon teams -"

Meaning tough luck if you don't volunteer to stay. Nearly half the pilots are on teams. Anna barely listens as Sheppard says he'll speak to everyone individually.

She stays seated as the others leave, muttering their discontent. She's about to follow them when she realises Sheppard's still there.

"Hey, Rodriguez." He may be tired, but under it all he looks happy. No secret that Sheppard's desperate to get back to Pegasus. "How'd you feel about heading up a gate team when we get back?"

"Sir?" And then her brain catches up with the words. "Sir, yessir." She can't say it fast enough.


	8. The Dark-Eyed Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John remembers Rodriguez as a dark-eyed girl who only needed three drinks before she started insulting a senior officer about his choice of aircraft.

John remembers Rodriguez as a dark-eyed girl who only needed three drinks before she started insulting a senior officer about his choice of aircraft. "Choppers, Shep? I thought you were a _real_ pilot."

He remembers the way her eyes lit up when she talked about flying the F-16s. He remembers thinking that she loved flying as much as him.

So when General O'Neill sent him a list of possible recruits for the SGC's 302 program, it was her name that caught his eye. Rodriguez, AM, Lieutenant. Anna-Maria Rodriguez, but the guys all called her 'Radio', because - actually, he never did figure that out.

Three years later, and the woman in front of John won't meet his eyes.

~

They're late back from Ordan, happy in the glow of a good mission and the strong alliance they've just forged (and maybe a little of the thick liquor they toasted it with). As they step through the gate, even McKay is tractable.

The gate room is eerily quiet, and Woolsey is waiting at the foot of the stairs.

"What happened?" John asks, mentally scrolling through all the missions scheduled. Five teams offworld, not counting his own.

Richard looks shaken. "There was an incident on M8L-554."

"The dig?" The Ancient ruins, on a long abandoned planet. Rodriguez, he thinks, four archaeologists, half a dozen Marines. One of McKay's scientists as well, probably. Fuck, he thinks, Rodriguez volunteered-

"We lost three-"

"Oh, god," says Rodney, white-faced.

"-and another two are in the infirmary."

John's about to ask who (he doesn't want to know, losing three Marines, maybe more), when Lorne arrives. He stops in front of John and salutes, which is when it hits John that this is bad, so bad. "Major."

"Sir." Lorne's about to say more, but he stops, mouth open.

"Who-" prompts Teyla.

"Sergeant Shaughnessy and Drake," says Woolsey. "And Dr Cronje." Christ, thinks John, a civilian? "Dr Hayashi and Corporal Veidt are in the infirmary."

"They don't think Veidt will make it," says Lorne finally, his voice ragged.

"What the hell happened?" asks Rodney. "Wraith?"

Lorne shakes his head "We're still - the planet was inhabited."

"But we-" We checked. We were there. I was there, thinks John.

"Maybe further from the gate than we usually see, I don't know. Primitive weapons, but-" Lorne flinches, and starts over. "They fled pretty fast once we fired the drones on them."

Heading to the infirmary, he can tell Lorne is itching to speak. "Major."

Lorne doesn't say anything for a few steps, and then blurts out: "Collins." His voice, still pained, is cut through with anger. "It came out in the jumper, so by now all the Marines know. He was - I don't know. Asleep, or drunk, or just - he didn't raise the alarm."

"He _what_?" Rodney's in front of them, but he heard, and stops, turning to look at Lorne, who won't meet his eye.

"He said they walked right by him. Christ! And Rodriguez-" Lorne squares his shoulders, looks up. "Sir, Rodriguez told me there was a problem with Collins, and I swear, I thought I'd dealt with it, I thought he'd straighten out. I'm sorry, sir, I take full-"

John shakes his head to stop Lorne. "No, I know. I knew. You couldn't have expected this."

There are always things that don't go in the reports. There's the stuff that he hears, and stuff that Lorne hears. With the women, there's stuff that Teldy hears, and takes to Teyla, who brings it to him with the distinct, if implicit, impression that if he doesn't deal with it discreetly and promptly, she will kick his no-good misogynist ass across the city. M5F-472 wasn't one of those, so he let Lorne deal with it. However obvious it was that there'd been a problem, he hadn't wanted Rodriguez to think he didn't think she made the right call, taking it to Lorne.

Lorne's the one who brought Collins to Atlantis.

"We should put Collins in the brig, make sure everybody cools off-" starts Lorne.

"I'll deal with it," says John, and ignores Lorne's sharp intake of breath. "Major."

"Sir." Lorne doesn't follow him into the infirmary.

~

One of the nurses is bandaging Rodriguez's arm, and the captain sits with her eyes closed. When she opens them, John wants to reach out to her, but stops, seeing her eyes narrow in distrust. "I spoke to Lorne," he says, instead, and she sits up.

"Sir-"

He can't. He just can't. "We'll debrief tomorrow. Get some sleep." He makes a hopeless gesture towards the nurse, who bustles forward with sleeping pills.

John turns away, and sees the little bastard Collins watching Rodriguez. "Get out," says John. Softly, because he's an inch away from whaling on the guy himself, and 27 year-old Harry Veidt is dying in the next room, 34 year-old Dr Ayako Hayashi touch and go in the room beyond that. Dr Peer Cronje, Sergeant Joseph Shaughnessy and Private 1st Class Ellen Drake are in the morgue. He can see Dr Gibson across the infirmary, his leg being bandaged, and knows that Drs Morton and Lewis are down the hall, Lewis sedated, Morton refusing to leave his side.

He doesn't know where the other two Marines from the mission are, but he knows what they will be planning, so he says, "Get out."

~

His anger is burning off with the last of the liquor from the allegiance ceremony of this morning, and now he feels sick to his stomach. He's made a decision that he always swore he wouldn't - he's letting the Marines dispense their own justice.

He tells himself it's just this once, and this time, this man - he's guilty. He admitted it. He deserves it. Hell, he practically told Lorne - Lorne, dammit, who told John to bring Collins to Atlantis, and who tried to have John lock Collins in the brig, trying to save his own ass (because Evan's as angry and betrayed as John, but he still knows better than to leave a man to the bloody justice of the USMC).

John tells himself that it's because he knows the SGC won't be able to touch the man. He's British, and the fragile balance of power between the SGC, the IOA and the BSEF wouldn't withstand the court-martial of a British soldier, however badly he's screwed up.

He doesn't let himself think about the files he's read on Collins, the missions he'd been on back in the Milky Way. He doesn't think 'scapegoat'. He doesn't wonder what would have happened if he'd spent another hour scanning M8L-554 for life.

He can't raise any of his team over the radio, and he's closer to the labs than the sparring rooms, so he goes in search of Rodney. He almost regrets it when he sees the unhappy slump of Rodney's shoulders, the way he's stabbing at his keyboard.

Rodney's writing the letter for Cronje that John will have to write for Shaughnessy and Drake and Veidt.

"I don't think we'll see Nate going out with a team again." Rodney's tone is harsh, but there's no venom to it.

John agrees, but doesn't say so.

"I'm sorry."

Rodney doesn't even roll his eyes at that. "Don't." The computer becomes the focus of Rodney's anger again.

"It's-"

"No. Don't. Don't do that bullshit 'the honour of the company' thing. Don't lie and pretend like you can take the blame for this. We all know what happened."

"Rodney-"

Rodney pushes back from the desk, runs his hands through his hair. "Christ. If only we'd scanned the planet further. I can't believe we missed them. They must have been miles from the gate. I'm thinking they saw the gate when we came through - they must have been miles away - the gate's high, you can see it for miles. They probably think it's cursed or something - none of this Ring of the Ancestors crap, all they know is that the Wraith come through the gate, so when we-"

"Rodney. Stop."

"We should have known. We could have stopped this."

"How could we have known, Rodney? The-"

"We should have known, John." Rodney laughs bitterly. "We should know by now."

His radio buzzes, "_John._"

"Teyla?"

"_Will you and Rodney please join Ronon and myself in the sparring room._" She cuts off without waiting for his reply, but not before he hears the sound of fighting in the background.

"What?" asked Rodney.

"Something-" Something is wrong, he thought. "Teyla's looking for us."

"I'm busy."

"No you're not. C'mon."


	9. Situation Normal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beginnings of a gate team are not always auspicious.

She's first through the door, first to see that they're not alone, first to raise her weapon. They look as surprised as she, but they outnumber her little team, and she's got three guns pointed at her head before Collins follows her inside.

She hesitates.

Collins doesn't. He barrels into the soldier closest to him, the butt of his P90 crunching into the man's nose. His momentum pushes both of them into the second soldier, and Anna has the sense to point her weapon at the third.

The rest are still stumbling to their feet. If she wasn't so scared, she'd be laughing. They're obviously hungover, and stare at Anna and her team - no. Stare at Collins, who hasn't stopped at disarming the first soldier. He pummels the guy, who's trying to surrender, for fuck's sake.

"Collins!" she snaps. She doesn't want to start shooting, but even hungover, these - what the hell are they? Mercenaries, most like, uniformed but not. God only knows what they're doing here - but they're not going to just keep watching. One of them steps forward, and he looks sharper than the others. Genii (but not). She switches her aim to him. "Back off, buddy."

"Jesus." Dr Gibson is frozen in the entrance.

"Collins!" yells Anna again. "Fuck's sake. Collins!" She'd fire a warning shot, but there's no point. "Wright. Get him out of here."

Wright lifts Collins bodily off the man, wrapping those linebacker arms around Collins to pull him away, and still Collins manages to get away from him. Collins rounds on Wright, a knife suddenly in his hand. His eyes are wild, unfocussed.

Wright doesn't look worried, but he keeps his distance.

"Collins! Snap the fuck out of it," she yells again. With Wright facing Collins, hers is the only weapon on the mercenaries. She doesn't want to give them time to realise that Gibson is worse than useless. At least his gun's pointed at them, even if the safety's on and he's staring at Collins.

Something shifts in Collins' expression, and he lowers the knife. She keeps her weapon on the leader of the mercenaries. "We're just going to walk out of here nice and easy." Nobody moves. "Collins. Out."

For a moment he doesn't move, then he smirks at her and sidles out of the door. "Wright." He nods, and follows Collins. "Gibson."

Gibson's staring after Collins, slack-jawed. "Doc," she says, and he starts. "Any time now." He chases after Wright, and she has to force herself not to flee after him.

She holds eye contact with the leader as she backs out the door.

~

Her de-brief is short and terse. They arrived, they weren't alone, nobody died, and no, she doesn't know who they were but there were a few Genii uniforms - which is when Sheppard goes "Aw, crap, again?" and tells her just to write it all up and pass it to Major Lorne. She nods, and he dismisses her, but as she turns to leave, he calls her back.

"You did good, Captain. Everybody home safe? That's a good day." She nods again, and salutes because what else is she going to do? He waves her away.

She waits for Lorne in his office, hands him the report and stands at what the Marines call SGC attention. Their drill instructors would yell at them til their ears bled. Lorne knows why she doesn't leave. There's always something that doesn't go in the report. Sometimes you tell Sheppard, sometimes you tell Lorne. Sometimes you go to Teldy, who goes to Teyla, and you find yourself on milk runs to the newest Athosian settlement. "Sit down, Captain."

Anna sits, and realises she still doesn't know how to tell Lorne his recommendation sucks. "It's about Collins, sir."

"He didn't tell that joke about the nun and the -" His gaze sharpens when she shakes her head. "What happened?"

"He was a little volatile, sir." Lorne doesn't say anything, but he winces ever so slightly. "Scared the hell out of the enemy, sir, but -"

"You want to send him for a psych evaluation?"

So long as he doesn't come back, she thinks. But Collins is the sort to charm the doctors. "I thought I'd let you know, sir. I know you're - I know you've worked with him before. You might have a better sense of -" Whether this was a one time thing, or if he really is bat-shit insane.

He nods. "I'll talk to him. In the meantime, I'll sub in Sergeant Shaughnessy for your next mission."

She knows Shaughnessy from working with Major Hughes' team, and he's a good, steady presence to have on a gate team. "Gibson again?" She's not too worried about the scientist, but she'll teach him how to use his weapon before she goes offworld with him again.

"No, Travers and -" He leafs through the papers in front of him. "Laukkinen, from anthropology. Don't worry, they've visited this planet before, got a good rapport with the locals. Shouldn't be any trouble."

Shit, she thinks, and straightens up. "Not worried, sir. Just want to know what I'm dealing with. Sir."

He acknowledges her point with a rueful twist of his mouth. "Of course. If that's all?"

She nods, and stands, and salutes. Lorne acknowledges this with less discomfort than Sheppard.

~

"The first time I met Colonel Sheppard, my home was destroyed and I was captured by the Wraith." Anna doesn't know what to say to that. But there's warmth in Teyla's voice, and her eyes are clear. And then she nearly shatters Anna's kneecap with a blow from a bantos rod Anna could have sworn was heading in a different direction.

"I'm not sure that's reassuring," Anna says, to give herself a chance to recover.

"I only mean that you should not expect your team to - gel? - to work well together from the start. The beginnings do not need to be auspicious." Teyla's done waiting, and steps in with a move that Anna will, one of these days, remember how to block in time.

She likes training with Teyla, because she doesn't get her ass so thoroughly kicked as when she trains with Ronon Dex. She likes training with Dex - very, very infrequently - because he doesn't hold back just because she's a woman.

Ronon trains every day, but apart from his runs with Sheppard, he doesn't _exercise_. He spars with Teyla and Sheppard, or he trains the Marines in Satedan fighting styles, and apart from the occasional impromtu football/rugby game that might as well be a barroom brawl, he's always fighting. That's why he kicks the Marines' asses: he never stops fighting.

The Marines don't always take it like men. "I've never been in so much _pain_," hisses Shaughnessy.

"Give us a break, will you, Dex?" says Wright.

"Yeah, what did we do to deserve this?"

Dex grins. "It's not punishment." Shaughnessy laughs bitterly. "It's not a beating. You make the blood run, you make the blows count. You don't stop, because the Wraith never stop."

"What's that, a Satedan lullaby?"

Dex doesn't reply, just grins wider. "You ready, Rodriguez?" Anna nods, steps up to Dex, and doesn't break anything when she lands halfway across the room. Well, she thinks fuzzily, at least it gets the others fighting. No Marine wants to be outdone by a goddamn Air Force pilot.

~

She hasn't made her team choices official. She's still getting to know them, and they her: Shaughnessy still beams like a proud father when she makes good tactical decisions. Wright still isn't comfortable enough in Pegasus to relax, even in Atlantis - she has to remember that he's as new to the SGC as to Atlantis, that he was pulled out of his first tour in Afghanistan because of the gene.

But Lorne stops swapping in other Marines, and she finds their missions increasingly split between babysitting Travers and Laukkinen, staring at rocks with Matoub, and going on wild ZPM chases with Gibson. If she chooses one of them to join the team permanently, she'll go for Gibson, because while Dr Matoub is a big guy and can handle himself in a fight, he studies rocks.

They're mostly on abandoned planets, either culled or too barren to be viable, or visiting communities the expedition has long had ties with. They have one unexpected 'first contact', but she pulls the 'peaceful explorers' line and they turn out to be old trading partners of the Athosians, newly nomadic. They cross paths with the Wraith often enough, but never more than a handful at a time.

This is a bigger mission than she's handled before, and she's more than aware that she wouldn't be the first choice, but Sheppard will be offworld twice during the mission, which means Lorne has to stay in Atlantis (to rescue AR-1, nobody says). Teldy is on leave, Hughes is in the infirmary. There's a dozen other Captains (all Marines, all men, all with seniority, not that she's saying anything), and she has to stop herself from flinging her hand up like a schoolgirl when Sheppard asks if anyone wants to volunteer. He sees her bouncing in her seat, though, and nods.

It doesn't sound like much: extensive Ancient ruins around a long-abandoned stargate. The archaeologists are sending a team of four, and McKay wants a 'real' scientist along as well, just in case there's something interesting. Two weeks for the initial dig, longer if the archaeologists want it, which they will. She'll take Shaughnessy and Wright, and Dr Gibson, who's volunteered anyway. Lorne assigns four more Marines.

She's responsible for 11 people, which wouldn't rate more than a lieutenant on Earth, but they're in another galaxy. Everything's different. She's so buzzed she doesn't even query it when Lorne tells her he's sending Collins with her.

Hell, she doesn't even mind that they're not leaving a jumper with them. The ruins are barely two miles from the gate, and the hike back and forth to report to Woolsey will keep her Marines occupied.

~

Collins doesn't make trouble. There's still a challenge in his eyes, but it's not vicious. He does tell the joke about the nun. Gibson and the three male archaeologists give short, shocked laughs, while Dr Hayashi's eyes go wide. Wright and the other Marines try to hide their amusement, but Shaughnessy roars with laughter, and then slaps Collins on the back of the head. They all turn to see her reaction.

She keeps her face blank, and holds Collins' gaze. Then she tells the filthiest joke she knows.

They stare at her. Then Ayako giggles, and Anna lets herself smile. The men laugh, and Collins raises his hands in mock defeat.

~

On the fourth day, she spends the morning watching Gibson walk slowly across a forest clearing that Cronje swears is a plaza, and Lewis is equally vehement is a forest clearing. Every now and then, Gibson's scanner beeps, and he frowns at it, backs up a few paces, and starts over. The scanner never seems to beep in the same location.

Flores and Drake are humping dirt for the archaeologists at the main site. She sent Wright and Shaughnessy to the gate to send the daily report - they should be on their way back. Veidt and Collins are patrolling their perimeter. Christ, she's bored.

Gibson finally stops walking in circles, says "Bugger!" and stares at the sky with a wounded expression.

"Doc?"

He smiles at her ruefully. "I know I shouldn't complain, because I volunteered, but..."

"You don't have to stay. If you're not finding anything, there's not much point."

He shrugs, overly casual. "They might uncover something yet."

She raises an eyebrow at that, and he sniggers.

"It's - it's not that it isn't fascinating. I mean, the Ancients were _weird_, really, but it's all so -"

"Covered in dirt?"

"Abstract. And covered in dirt, yes." He sighs. "No ZedPM, at any -"

Her radio clicks, and then goes silent. She holds up a hand to stop Gibson, and waits. The radio stays silent. She's about to speak when she hears gunfire.

~

She forces herself to look at the others - Flores and Wright look back at her expectantly, not accusingly. God, she should have been there. Gibson looks like she's about to accuse him of taking her away from the main site, and she almost laughs. Collins doesn't look at her.

Lewis and Morton are in the other jumper, along with the medic trying to keep Hayashi and Veidt alive. Shaughnessy and Drake and Cronje are all here. Collins stares at one of the body bags - Cronje, she thinks absently, thinner than the Marines - and he flinches when one of the rescue party eases past him.

Major Lorne has slowed the jumper down, letting the other jumper pass through the gate ahead of them.

"They came out of nowhere," says Flores, his voice thick with disbelief. "Didn't see them until they - they just - I turned round and they'd just cut her in two." His hands tighten on his weapon. "Cronje was already dead."

"They were so fucking quiet," says Wright, shaking his head. She nods. Even after they attacked, they'd barely made a sound.

She'd ordered everyone back to the camp, once she'd realised what was happening (she still doesn't know what happened). All except Wright, who she'd sent back to the gate. He'd dialed Atlantis for reinforcements, and must have doubletimed it back to the camp, because he was there in time to see Shaughnessy die.

She'd run, run, run, barely able to tell Gibson to stay with her as she made for the camp. Heard Flores say, calmly, "Drake's gone", as he fired on their attackers. Heard Lewis panicking, Morton telling him to shut up and run. They were at the camp by the time she and Gibson reached it, Shaughnessy not far behind them. She remembers calling for Veidt, Collins, Hayashi, Cronje.

Veidt reached them just as the enemy reached the camp. She thinks she shot the man who cut him down, but couldn't swear to it. Maybe Shaughnessy did. Unless the second wave had reached the back of the camp, because Shaughnessy was standing beside her, and he fell forward (he fell, and didn't even cry out, and she hated them, their silence robbing him of that).

She shakes her head to clear it. Wright had seen that, come up behind and ambushed the ambush, P90 making short work of spears and axes, and it was all too late. Then the jumpers came down, and she didn't wait for Major Lorne's order before she stepped out to drive them back, drive them away from Veidt, from Drake's body, from Cronje, Hayashi, Collins -

"You were to the south? Veidt headed to the camp, and you went back to the dig?" She remembers seeing Collins crouched over Hayashi, firing and firing even though their attackers were long gone, and oblivious to their rescuers' approach. He'd disobeyed her, but Hayashi might survive. They're attacked by people with spears, and the only reason anyone survives is because Collins is too much of an crazy bastard to follow orders.

"We split up." Collins finally looks up, looking at her, only not quite. "I was on the other side. North." He's waiting for something.

"So - they must have come from further west?" She thought they'd fled north, but it had happened so fast -

Collins shakes his head. "No. They walked right by me." And then he laughs.

He's still laughing as Flores swears when he realises what Collins said. Still laughing as Flores lashes out and the marines from the rescue party pull him back. By the time Sergeant Johnson has pulled Flores into the jumper's cockpit and sat him down, Collins has an arm pressed over his mouth and he's staring at the body bags again.

She's numb. She doesn't know when she stood up, but suddenly her knees are weak. She grabs hold of the netting to keep herself upright, and closes her eyes until she feels the jumper land in Atlantis.

The sickening atmosphere in the jumper eases as the rear hatch opens and the Marines leave silently. There's a flurry of activity outside, but it's far away.

Someone - she thinks it's Gibson - says "Captain?", and she hears Major Lorne say, softly, "Go on, Doc."

The jumper bay is quiet again. She opens her eyes. Lorne is watching her. She lets go of the netting, and nearly falls, but Lorne steadies her, a hand on her shoulder. He waits until she pulls away, and lets his hand drop. It's covered in blood, but she doesn't think it's hers.

"I'm sorry, Captain. This should never have happened. I thought -" He breaks off, and shakes his head. "He'll be on the next run out of Atlantis."

"Sir, I -"

"None of this is your fault, Rodriguez"

"It was my command, sir -"

"You already told me there was a problem with Collins. I thought I'd gotten through to him, but - Dammit!" She's never seen Lorne even close to angry before. He looks her straight in the eyes. "I apologise. I thought he was a better soldier."

"I -"

"I'm going to ask Sheppard to have him locked in the brig."

"Sir, that's -"

"If we don't -" Lorne stops. "You should go to the infirmary, Captain."

~

She only realises how badly she's fucked up when Collins doesn't even see the punch McKay throws. He's slammed against the infirmary wall, and doesn't open his eyes as McKay starts in with: "You have one job. Just one job, and that's to keep my people safe. If you can't do that, you're worse than useless to us."

Sheppard pulls McKay away. "Not the time, Rodney," he says, even though he looks like he wants to do the same thing. "I'll deal with him later, okay?"

Anna hisses as the nurse starts to clean the cut on her arm. Rizk mutters a soft apology, and Anna closes her eyes against it.

When she opens her eyes again, Sheppard is standing in front of her. He reaches out as if to touch her shoulder, but drops his hand. His expression is bleak. "I spoke to Lorne."

"Sir -"

"We'll debrief tomorrow. Get some sleep." He executes a complicated shrug towards Nurse Rizk, who nods and slips two small pills into Anna's hand.

When she turns to look at Collins, he's gone.

~

She sees Collins firing and firing, crouched over Ayako. Sees him strike down the mercenary aiming at her head.

There's a knock at her door, soft and hesitant. "Enter"

It's Dr Gibson. He looks grey and shaken, and he's leaning on a crutch, his leg bound. "Captain..."

She doesn't have the energy. If she doesn't speak to him, chances are he'll never join her team again, which isn't fair, because it's not his fault, but she doesn't care.

He's holding something out, not catching her eye. "I know you don't want to hear this," he says, "but I - no-one's supposed to know anyway. But it's - "

"What is it?"

He pushes the thing into her hand. It's a USB stick. "I looked up his file, after M5F-472. I shouldn't have kept it." He looks up, suddenly defiant. "It's not as if you'll get in trouble. They're already blaming him, so. Oh, no, I didn't mean - " Gibson grabs her shoulder (what is it about her shoulder?).

He must feel the room spinning too.

"It's not your fault. Christ, it's not anybody's fault. But that's the point. They're blaming him, and it isn't fair. He's a good man, but he keeps getting blamed. And I know, I know, he was supposed to be on lookout, and he screwed up, but you saw what they _did_, do you really think it would have made a difference? Are you going to blame Sheppard or McKay because they didn't realise the planet was inhabited? I know you want to blame someone, everybody does. I do. But it isn't fair -"

"Doc, slow down."

"They think he's unlucky," Gibson says with a scowl, and Anna almost laughs, because it's a McKay scowl. "Which is absurd. He keeps volunteering for the shittiest missions, and people _die_, but what do they expect? Nobody calls Sheppard unlucky."

They do. They used to. They called him worse, back in Afghanistan, and she'd kept her mouth shut.

~

She's expecting him to be drunk. She'd be drunk. (She kind of wishes she was.) But the unlabelled bottle he's holding is nearly full.

He's still blankfaced. Thousand yard stare doesn't even cover it.

"Collins..." She steps into the room, and Gibson slips in behind her, hugging the wall.

"I was bored," Collins says, and grins. It's more of a grimace. "I was bored, so I switched off, and I just didn't see them. Can you fucking believe that?"

She can, but shakes her head, not that he notices. "Veidt's dead."

He nods, tapping his radio. "I heard -" He stops.

You can hear the ocean, even up here.

"You should go," says Collins.

"Can't sleep."

"You should go."

When they come, the Marines - there's a dozen of them - it's not the troublemakers. Sergeant Johnson, who's been with the expedition from the start, leads them, and she sees a couple of Lorne's guys, and Wright at the back, his expression - careful.

"Let us deal with this, ma'am."

She stays where she is. "My team, my problem."

"He's not your problem, ma'am. He's not anybody's team." Johnson doesn't even sound angry.

"Team you choose," says another. "Team you can trust," says a third. They sound angry.

"He was on my team for this mission, so he was my responsibility. I will -"

"No offense, ma'am, but -"

"No, she's right." Wright pushed to the front. "We'll deal with him."

Johnson looks at the two of them. She tries to keep her gaze as cold as she's seen Sheppard and Lorne. After a moment, he nods, stands to attention. "Ma'am."

"Sarge -" starts one of the others.

"They got the right," says Johnson.

She doesn't let herself breathe until the door closes behind them. Wright's careful expression has collapsed, replaced by something she'd call fear if she was being ungenerous.

She turns to find Collins standing, glaring at her. "You think you're doing me a favour?" he says,

"You want a dozen Marines beating up on you?"

He doesn't answer.

"McKay's going to make life a misery -" Collins snorts at that, but she continues. "- for you, even if it is only two weeks 'til Sheppard can kick you onto the Daedalus. Lorne isn't going to do you any more favors. You should take the ones you can get."

"Don't want your fucking pity," he mutters, and she ignores what he calls her under his breath. Thankfully, Wright is still taking his cue from her, but he tenses in protest.

"Mark," says Gibson. It's the first time he's spoken, his tone sharper than she'd expect.

Collins turns away from them, leaning on the balcony rail. He leans forward, and she's suddenly scared that he'll throw himself over. Wright moves faster than her, pulling Collins away from the rail. She expects Collins to struggle and pull away, but he doesn't resist.

"You _wanted_ -" she starts.

"'S no more than I'd've done."

"And we know how good your judgment is," she snaps. She feels Gibson flinch beside her. Collins doesn't react.

"They'll chuck me out of the SGC," he says, instead, and doesn't meet her eyes. "They won't court-martial me, because my bosses won't want one of their own kicked out in disgrace, even if no-one outside the SGC knows about it. I'll get discharged on medical grounds, and they'll give me a crappy pension and a therapist."

"So, what, you want a beating now, because it's the last chance you'll get?"

"What do you want me to say, _ma'am_?"

"That it was a mistake! That it won't happen again. That you're sorry. That you - That I -" That I should have been there. If anyone could see that, Collins could. "You don't deserve that."

"I earned the right."

"That's not what I -"

"I was a soldier once. I had a job to do." His voice is dead. "I'm finished, but you can't just sweep me into a little box. I earned the right."

She stares at him, and Wright swears under his breath. Gibson looks from her to Collins and back, his expression torn.

And then she says: "Fine."

~

She finds Ronon and Teyla sparring in the gym. Teyla notices her first, and steps out of the fight. Ronon protests, and then sees Anna. Sees Wright and Gibson. Sees Collins.

"Captain Rodriguez, I understood you were - resting?" says Teyla. Ronon doesn't say anything, but it's him she speaks to.

"You -" This is such a fucked up idea. Collins needs therapy, counselling, medication. And yet: "You said - 'You make the blood flow, you make each blow count'." She doesn't know if she's remembering it correctly, but Ronon's expression shifts into interest. "It's a lesson, right? And if you forgot, there was always someone to remind you?" She's guessing, now, but there was something about the way he'd said it.

Ronon nods. "You make the blood run, you make the blows count. You don't stop, because the Wraith never stop."

"And if a soldier - a good soldier - needs to be reminded? It's not punishment -" She stops, because Teyla looks horrified, but Ronon nods again.

"Okay," he says.

Wright pushes Collins into the center of the room.

"Ronon." There's a note of caution in Teyla's voice.

"He earned it -" Anna coughs, because the words are heavy in her mouth. "He earned the right." Teyla's expression hardens, but she steps aside.

"It's not a beating," says Dex, pacing around Collins. "It's not punishment." The blows hit arms, legs, shoulder, stomach.

The third pass, and she sees the way Collins tenses up after the blow. Dex sees it too, and his next blow hits harder. Collins still doesn't react, but his stance changes. The next blow sends him to his knees, but he's back on his feet in seconds. He blocks the next, and the next, his arms dropping back to his sides each time.

"You still bored?" asks Dex. Collins blocks that blow, twisting the rod from Dex's grasp and bringing it down on his thigh.

Dex grins, and swipes the second stick straight into Collins's face. Collins goes down, but his left leg goes up, catching Dex below the knee. Dex tumbles away from Collins, and then they're both back on their feet.

It's a dirty fight. Collins is quick to abandon his appropriated bantos rod, and Dex follows suit. He abandons the easy grace he shows when he spars with Teyla or Sheppard, and she's pretty sure he doesn't teach the Marines some of those moves. Collins fights fast and vicious, none of the careful solidity of the US Marines.

Collins is already bleeding from that blow to the face, and she notices he's favoring his right leg just as Dex takes advantage of this.

The noise Collins makes as he drops gives even Dex pause, but he rallies quickly, just as Collins lunges at him, barely upright. They crash into the wall together, and it takes a moment for Dex to catch his breath before he spins Collins back into the middle of the room. Collins lunges again, but he's slower, and Dex catches him in a choke hold.

Collins struggles, but his movements are sluggish, and his feet can't find purchase on the floor.

It's Wright who steps up to restrain Dex, a careful hand on his shoulder. Dex turns to face him, his grip on Collins loosening, and Wright punches him with such a classic haymaker that Anna laughs.

Dex drops Collins and stumbles backwards. She sees Teyla, who's been watching all this with a look that borders on distaste, nod sharply.

Collins tries to pull himself up, but falls again, listing even as he kneels. Anna steps up to him, puts her hand on his shoulder to stop him trying to stand, and watches as Wright and Dex start to fight.

Wright hasn't been here long enough to have learnt how to defend himself against Satedan tactics, but after Dex floors him in payback for the haymaker, he switches his methods to match Wright's skills. They circle each other almost formally - circle Collins, who watches them with an unreadable expression, his breath ragged.

She finds Teyla standing at her side, holding out a set of bantos rods. After a moment she accepts them, and mirrors Teyla's bow before moving out to face her, opposite Wright and Dex.

Teyla is as graceful as ever, and as they fight, Anna feels her pulse slowing. Part of her mind is absorbed in watching how Teyla and Ronon fight together so fluidly. It earns her a sharp crack to the side of her head. They move in perfect synchronicity, swapping out at the perfect moment to catch Wright or herself unawares.

She lands a blow on Ronon's wrist hard enough to make him hiss with pain, but Wright is still too much the Iowa farm boy to strike at Teyla without her express permission. The third time Teyla puts Wright on the floor, she steps back and says Ronon's name. He stops, and goes to her side.

They bow, and Anna returns the bow, already shaking with misplaced adrenalin.

As she pulls Wright to his feet, she realises they have an audience. The marines she'd stopped earlier, none of whom look her in the eye. Major Lorne, who looks weary, but still nods to her. Sheppard, his face unreadable, and McKay, wearing his sourest expression.

"Is this some grunt thing I'm not going to understand?" he says.

"Everybody screws up," says Ronon, and McKay's mouth snaps shut. Sheppard and Ronon exchange looks, the gist of which escapes Anna, but it ends with Ronon looking smug and Sheppard frowning.

"In ever more diverse ways," agrees Sheppard, finally. "I guess you have your team." Anna stares at him, and he nods towards the far wall. She turns to see Gibson sitting beside Collins, his injured leg at an uncomfortable angle. He's binding Collins' bleeding knuckles, ignoring the soft sounds of pain that Collins tries to hide. Wright stands beside them, eyes turned to the other Marines, defiant.

"My -" She turns back to Sheppard. "Yessir." She's surprised to see his expression soften.

"You're sure?"

"Sir, yessir."

He nods once, and turns sharply, pushing McKay outside.

"I'm pretty sure you have places to be," says Lorne, and the Marines shuffle in discomfort. Then Johnson salutes, and the others echo him. Lorne raises an eyebrow at them, then turns to her. Her stomach dropping, she returns the salute.

As the Marines leave, Lorne gives her a half smile. "Captain."

"Sir."

Teyla steps up to her, sweeping her into the traditional Athosian greeting. Before Teyla follows Sheppard and McKay out of the sparring room, Anna blurts out: "I know you don't -"

"You know your team, I do not. It was a good choice, Captain Rodriguez."

Ronon grins darkly at Anna, and holds up his already bruising wrist. "Next time, huh?" She nods. Ronon turns to Collins. "Training, next week." Collins raises a bandaged hand in reply. "You too, Wheel."

"Wheel?" Anna asks, and Ronon mimics the blow that had caught him unawares.

"On Sateda, that's called the Wheel, because if you land it right, your opponent spins like a wheel." His grin widens. "There are ways to counter it." Wright looks - she's willing to be generous here - apprehensive.

"Next time," Ronon repeats, and follows his teammates outside.

She hears McKay from the corridor. "So, what, we're putting crazy people on gate teams now?"

"That's not news, Rodney," says Ronon, and McKay snorts.

The door closes behind them.

Anna walks slowly towards her team. Wright's already on the floor beside Gibson.

"What happened to that bottle?" she asks.

"Lost it somewhere," says Collins, his voice hoarse. "Marines'll have it by now."

"Damn."

"I have some beer -" starts Gibson.

"_Beer_ beer?" asks Collins.

"Budvar."

Collins sighs, his head tipped back against the wall. "Zelenka's a god."

Wright frowns. "What's wrong with real Bud?" he asks, and Gibson stares at him in horror.

"Budvar _is_ real Bud." he says.

"We'll have to -" Collins stops, his breath catching. He pulls his knees tighter to his chest, dropping his head.

"Yeah," says Anna.

"Plenty of time to teach you about beer," says Gibson to Wright. "And ale. Oh, God, if Pegasus had decent ale."

Anna sets her hand on Collins' neck, and watches Gibson as he explains the brewing process to an increasingly bemused Wright.

"So, Budvar, huh?" says Wright eventually.

"Yes! Say, you should ask Radek about Budweiser some time. That's pretty funny."


	10. AR-27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's about the blood split, not on a distant world by an unknown enemy, but in this room. It's about Collins, and Rodriguez, and Wright, and Gibson.

Collins is still watching Rodriguez, his face almost - but not quite - as expressionless as in the infirmary. He's obviously in pain, breath coming in fits and starts. He makes a desultory attempt to stop the blood flowing from his nose, hisses at the pain (John can hear that above the thump and crack of the fight). When Dr Gibson starts to clean his bloodied hands and bind the cuts, Collins pulls away, but Gibson ignores this, tugging at his right hand. Collins lets him, and takes the cotton wool that Gibson offers, holding it to his nose with his free hand.

John can see the shake in that hand.

Collins looks up again, watching Rodriguez fight. There's a sharp crack, and Ronon swears, and Rodriguez gives a little whoop of satisfaction. And for a split second, Collins smiles. He's still holding the cotton wool to his nose, so all John can see is the way his eyes light up, just for that moment.

John realises that he no longer knows what's going on.

He turns back to the fight just in time to see Wright fall to the ground for, what, the third time in a row? Teyla, who's responsible, takes a swift step back. "Ronon," she says, and he turns the move he was about to use on Rodriguez into an improbably elegant turn out of the center of the sparring room.

They bow to Rodriguez, who returns the gesture a little shakily. Then she pulls Wright to his feet, and it's not 'til then that she registers her audience. She looks around a little wildly, and it's almost funny.

But not so funny. She stops when she sees him, just as Rodney blurts out "Is this some grunt thing I'm not going to understand?" And like that, Rodriguez closes up.

John can't tell Rodney that no, he wouldn't understand - he doesn't understand it himself. But he's beginning to realise that's not the point. This isn't about him. It might not even be about M8L-554, any more. He understands why Rodney won't accept that - they've both lost good people today.

"Everybody screws up," says Ronon, which shuts Rodney up.

John catches Ronon's eye, and is surprised to see him looking defiant. This is important to Ronon, too. It isn't about M8L-554, it's about Collins, and a code that John's spent most of his career cherry-picking from. A code that was simpler in Sateda, and that he knows Ronon adheres to more strongly.

The Marines watching silently from the sidelines understand that. Lorne understands it. Teyla understands, but she doesn't think in the same way. Rodney doesn't understand. John - is trying to.

Rodriguez understands, but he doubts that she knows that.

It isn't about M8L-554, or the other mistakes that Collins has made. It's about a man's worth, and what it takes to save him. It's about whether or not he's worth saving, and who decides that. Which means it's about Rodriguez, and the defiance she's showing her CO. It's about Wright, and the way the kid stepped up to fight a seasoned Satedan warrior. It's about Gibson, and the wrath he's risking from his boss simply by binding the cuts on Collins' hands.

Everybody screws up.

"In ever more diverse ways," says John, and turns to Rodriguez. "I guess you have your team."

She stares at him, and John nods towards her teammates.

"My-" She looks at them, realisation dawning, then turns back to him, suddenly at attention. "Yessir." She's scared, but there's a light in her eyes.

"You're sure?"

"Sir, yessir."

God, he wishes he could have that certainty. He nods to her, and turns to leave, grabbing Rodney as he passes, because he's been fidgeting, on the verge of saying something John will regret.

"Sheppard..." he starts, and John pulls him into the corridor, shaking his head and willing Rodney to keep his mouth shut, just this once. "What..." Rodney's sour expression wavers, breaking into confusion.

"Just, just - leave it, will you?" hisses John. "Not now, okay?" He can hear the Marines starting to leave, and deliberately, casually, turns away. They edge along the corridor in the opposite direction.

Rodney watches him, and John can hear his brain working away furiously. He may not understand, but he still tries to work it out. John admires that, because for a long time John would simply have ignored all of this. He stoops to pick up a bottle that's been left by the door, the better to avoid his friend's gaze.

Lorne stops behind him. "Sir."

"Major." Lorne looks dog tired, but the tension John saw earlier has eased.

John owes him an apology. He opens his mouth to say something foolish, but stops when he sees Lorne's mouth twitch with a suppressed, bitter smile. "Yeah," he says instead. Lorne owes him a story, because one of the files he couldn't read about Collins had Lorne's name on it.

Lorne nods. "Colonel, Dr McKay."

John watches Lorne walk away.

"I'm really not going to understand, am I?"

John absently unscrews the bottle, trying to hear what Ronon is saying to Rodriguez. "I'm not sure I do," he says, quietly. Whatever's in the bottle doesn't smell of anything much, save alcohol. Atlantis blend.

Rodney huffs annoyance, but his expression is softer as he snags the bottle from John's hand. "Let me know when you work it out. I'll copy your working." He takes a swig. "Good God, that's dreadful stuff." He takes another swig before passing it back.

"Yeah." It makes his eyes water, burns his throat. It's probably not lethal, but he sometimes wonders if it wouldn't be worthwhile letting the bootleggers a little leeway at the expense of the distillers.

Teyla and Ronon join them, Teyla serious, Ronon grinning despite his bloodied face. He catches the bottle when John throws it to him, and tips back his head to drink. Teyla rolls her eyes, shaking her head when Ronon offers her the bottle.

"You will need to watch them," she says.

"I will," says John. He will.

"So, what, we're putting crazy people on gate teams now?"

"That's not news, Rodney," says Ronon, and Rodney snorts. Ronon passes him the bottle.

As they pass the door, it closes, but he catches a glimpse of Rodriguez as she slides down the wall beside Collins and Gibson and Wright. She looks tired and bruised, and proud.


End file.
